this is war
by Frozen Dewdrops
Summary: It begins with two promises to achieve peace through war, to kill the hate with a bloodied hand, and to ultimately crown the one who is right, no matter who is left behind in the rush forward. It will end in a bloody, desolate nightmare which shall drag everyone down with it, and no one will make it out alive. [au.]
1. only to death shall I submit

__**a/n:** More of an experimental thing now, but let's see how things go.

* * *

_"In this crazy and bloody haze,_

_A beautifully blooming trance collapses."_

* * *

**[o. only to death do I submit]**

* * *

Before Brooke can speak, a clenched fist has already slammed down on the desk, and the tiny flame from the candle-lit lamp shakes fearfully.

"Nothing?"

An unsettling feeling skitters up her body as she tries to match the gaze of her superior's eyes, faded green with startling golden orange rings around the pupils that glow maliciously in the constantly shifting light.

Accompanied by only the slightest of frowns, there is an impending feel of dread creeping up from her stomach, forcing its way up into her mouth. It tastes much like bile, she muses, wincing as she swallows to force it back down once more.

"He's not speaking? We need that information if we plan on getting out of this dilemma."

The next few words need to be forced out of her mouth. "My Lord, I tried my very best. He wouldn't budge."

A hiss immediately follows as the man abruptly rises from his seat, eyes burning brighter than the fire which lights the room.

Suddenly he grabs one of the rolled up maps lying on his desk and flings it into the torch by the entrance of the room, knocking it from its stand and onto the stone floor. She flinches as he throws another object over her head and into the wall behind with a loud crack.

"Curse it all! How many more will be added to the ranks underground, until the Arinthians take responsibility for all the lives they killed, imposing their will on our people? I'm sick of hearing the word 'Arinthian'! I'm sick of finding our peace proposals returned unopened! I'm sick of seeing the people of Erelle dying left and right at the hands of the plague that they brought upon us!"

His hand swiftly reaches out for another map, and his fingers make quick work of the string that binds the roll tightly. Spreading the map out for her to see, he angrily jabs at the parchment in random areas that have no meaning to her.

Not that she'd ever say that out loud.

"Look at this!" he growls.

She leans in closer, squinting in the faint light of the lamp to discern the now visible scribbles and marks that litter the map.

"Er, my Lord… what is… I don't…"

Lost in her thoughts, she barely hears him murmuring a quiet apology, and she realizes that he's snapped out of … whatever it is that is happening to him.

He sighs wearily, and she can see that his eyes have dark rings underneath them, illuminated in the candle light. It hits that she can't remember him without them anymore, and she feels a twinge of sympathy at how the last ten years have tested him.

Lightly coughing, he points at a sloppy red "x" barely on the outskirts on the land that would considered part of Erelle's capital, Asentar.

"You know of the Arinthian plague, Princess? The one the Arinthians set on us? Every ten years or so, another strain sweeps through the country and decimates our population, especially those that are asteris or phantaes. Here is a location where over half of the population are either severely afflicted with or dead."

Brooke nearly chokes, there are at least twenty x's scrawled messily on the map, many barely miles from Asentar.

"But it's been a century since the original plague struck! How…?"

"I don't know much on the … science behind these, but it's like the flu, the variations are constantly changing so that it can infect people who were immune to the previous strand."

"What you're saying is that -"

"There's no actual cure for it. The closest we have is a counter toxin I've been working on. Our best phantaes are called all over to stall the plague's progression, but a third still won't make it."

Pausing to rub underneath his eyes, he points at a cluster of blue circles at the foot of the Pryvalian Freeze Mountains, the physical barrier that separates Erelle and Arinthia.

"And these are the locations where people have been going missing, turning up dead, and such. Of course the rate has to be high to be noted on this map. Please, guess whose doing this is."

"Nadia's," she says, tracing each circle slowly.

He scowls, as if the name is a bitter taste in his mouth. "We don't have conclusive evidence that that is so, but she's the prime suspect."

He coldly laughs at his own comment, and Brooke can only silently watch.

"She's the only one."

He is much different from the sixteen, going on seventeen year old boy she had met five years before with none of that awkward shyness and indecisiveness that he had possessed back then. Now, he is more like the leader they need in these times.

However, she wants to say the war has changed him - whether for better or worse, she is not certain.

"You have to try again. We need what he knows. Princess, you are the only one who I have full confidence in getting it out of him. The other two cannot guarantee that he'll live. They do not know the meaning of restraint, and Lady Silver… I can't keep an eye on her all the time," he mutters, a dark look shadowing his green eyes. "She's becoming much harder to control now."

"Where is she now?"

Making a noncommittal sound, he says, "I told to stay in her room and get some rest for tomorrow's round of executions."

* * *

"Hey, wake up."

"..."

"I said, wake up you twit!"

A sharp pain driving into Lance's ribs shocks him back into consciousness, and as his reeling vision sharpens on the dark dreary cell room he is in, he's not surprised to see that she-monster standing before him, face painted over with shadows, eyes glowing with... something other than blood lust for once.

For some reason, that thought only makes him leaves him feeling even more scared of her than he was before.

"What makes you think you'll get anything out me now?" the boy asks, glaring up at his captor with unveiled scorn.

His throat, rough and scratchy from a lack of use, sears with every word said, and he is all but unfamiliar with the metallic taste of blood that lingers in his mouth.

It hurts everywhere when he's awake, and all he wants is to sleep in hopes that the pain will go away if only for a little while. Yes, when his eyes are shut, his body doesn't suffer as much - so why doesn't he just give in?

His eyelids flutter repeatedly, struggling to even stay up, and off in the distance Lance sees darkness at the end of this spinning, disorienting tunnel. He hears voices calling out to him in this dark limbo where he finds solace from those monsters out in real life, and for some reason these indiscernible whispers weigh heavier and heavier on his heart with every second.

"Hey! Stay awake you moron!"

Suddenly, he's jolted back to reality as he feels cold metal sting his face, and he hisses as he registers the pain that shoots down his bones.

"...I'll give you credit. You aren't dead yet," Silver casually comments, inspecting him as she would a dead body. "Ah, don't worry. I'm unarmed. I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep as per orders from Isaac."

"You're lying. Why on Aeris would he send _you_ out of all people to check on my vitals?"

She slaps him again with her silver gauntlet, and he pretends that one didn't hurt more the first.

He tries his best to twist his aching face into a sneer. "Doesn't matter what good you think you're doing. You'll still burn in hell, witch – like everyone else in this castle."

Lance can't help but think that a flicker of something strange crosses her eyes for one moment, but she smiles instead, the sight sickeningly wrong for some reason.

Silver laughs.

"And I hope to see you there as well."

* * *

"So will you try again?"

Brooke sputters out a protest, thoroughly exhausted by the direction of the discussion.

"I can't! I've tried days on end, and he hasn't shown any signs of cracking. He's a Pryvalian asteri. You know what that means."

He nods, gesturing for her to continue.

"Asteri of Pryvalian birth are significantly more in tune with their abilities than those of the Erelle and the rare Arinthian asteri. Thanks to my… lineage, I can match a native Pryvalian in terms of power, but…"

"You'd need their intensity of training to back that up, and we both know your brother would never agree to that," he finishes calmly.

"Even with the Iron Chair in place, he's still putting up a good fight."

A nervous look spreads across her face, and suddenly all of her relief transforms into insidious doubt, eating away at her newly restored confidence.

If she couldn't do this, then Lord Thesroth might send Erelle forces back home, and everyone would be slau-

She tries not to think of such thoughts.

He sighs tiredly. "We need to take advantage of this opportunity. Even though we were devastated in that last battle, the Arinthians are greatly shaken from the suprise attack on their capital. Edessa made sure of that - I saw enough bodies to prove it.

This is the time to strike. If we can get the information out of the insufferable boy, we can strike Nadia at her headquarters and finish this war once and for all."

He looks thoughtful, his chin resting on his hand.

"Yes… if that damned meddler is killed, than the mediator that keeps Arinthia together will no longer be there, and they will have nothing to rally under. Only under her genius was Arinthia one. None are capable of holding them together like her.

The sorcerer thinks this is a mere game - and he does not understand this war at all. On the other hand, the people would never support a necromancer, and the android exists to serve, not lead.

The only threat is that aqueous asteri. She is powerful for an Arinthian, and they would definitely support a high class citizen who was saved and strengthened by Nadia's ideals…"

There is a strange light in his eyes, and she can see her image wavering as it reflects off of them.

"Princess, I ask you to try one more time."

A weak smile curls at her lips. "As you wish."

Before turning to leave, she bows respectfully. She doesn't make it to the door before his voice calls out to her once more.

"Ah, Princess?"

"Yes Lord?"

"Two things. Get some rest first, you certainly need it."

"Thank you, Lor-"

"And please," he says, shooting her a weary but sincere smile, "I have told you this so many times. Just address me as Isaac."

* * *

Any more of this and he would completely lose it.

Lance could hardly tell how long he had been stuck down here - chained to this metal chair in this dark, wet cell, stuck counting the stone bricks which made up the dungeon walls he could see beyond the iron bars. Not that he ever made very far past five hundred.

And the worst part about his imprisonment had been being unable to avoid the water dripping down onto his head. With his hands chained to the chair, all he could do was sit there, and _the stupid water was going to drive him crazy_.

Has it been days, weeks, or months? …Years even?

He doesn't know, and a part of him has no desire to find out. If anything, he should be trying to get out of this prison, and with the ability to spontaneous combust without harming himself, Lance had figured it would have been easy enough. Unfortunately, his first attempt had allowed him to figure out one crucial problem with his simple and straightforward plan.

The insufferable chair was enchanted.

Even allowing a finger to be consumed by fire would trigger the spells, and suddenly, it would feel like he had become a human pin cushion. Of course, Lance couldn't stand up to alleviate the pain, so he quickly gave up on any chance of escape.

Only four of the Erelle had visited his prison cell - and they were high profile enemies, he couldn't help but note, that the Arinthians had classified as people "not to confront alone", much less in his malnourished, weakened state.

Even if he escaped the cell, could he really take on four foes that powerful even if he had been healthy?

He doesn't even know if there are more of them above in the castle, and he imagines that his chances would only worsen.

The first of his visitors had been the infamous leader of the Erelle himself, Lord Isaac Thesroth. Upon seeing the nobleman, he had spat at the older man's newly polished boots, calling the lord a witch and demon under his breath. He would not touch any food or water that Isaac had offered him, knocking them into the walls to let their contents seep onto the floor.

He was never going to accept food from someone like him – he'd rather die than let that happen.

To his credit, what happened to the rats after licking the rations was enough proof for Lance to say that the bastard had poisoned everything he had been offered. It probably wasn't lethal to humans, but Lance figured he wouldn't take any chances.

The man would try to ask questions, but Lance never answered, resorting to the behavior that he displayed to his own mother when he was a child. With that, Thesroth had given up after a few days, and his cell had been empty for some time after.

Granted, it probably would have been better had things stayed that way.

The next two Erelle were, as Lance light put it, psychotic madmen. Silver and Red, he liked to call them - for the former was the infamous Lady Silver, the silver haired psychopath who killed everything in her path, and the latter was unnervingly quiet, gazing blankly at him from under his red cap.

Silver was the most impatient and downright craziest. When not satisfied with the lack of response he typically offered her, she would drive an iron stake into his thigh, smiling bemusedly as he screamed in shock, blood coating his leg and her fingers. Other times, she would strike at his head with her gauntlet, satisfied when blood streaked down his face like dirty red tears. Silver was a sadistic lunatic - especially when she arrived with a present, usually the severed head of one of his allies, presented as a trophy to be shown off.

It was amazing he hadn't thrown up on himself yet.

And as for Red, he didn't even want to talk about what the boy did to him. Most the time, Lance would pass out from the strain, with little recollection of what had happened. Lance figured he didn't want to remember. On the times that he managed to stay conscious… it was never a pleasant sight. Heck, the boy scared him more than Silver did.

Those two had been relentless, and one of them would always reappear just when his bruises, cuts, and other injuries has started to heal. Silver's last appearance had been only an hour before though he figured that her behavior was pretty weird.

Not that it made her torture any less painful.

As for the last - speak of the devil.

The cell door moans open, and a girl his age steps in, blond hair framing a pale face.  
He scowls, remembering exactly what she had done to him, that annoying girl.

Princess Brooke of Crystal Lake had gotten him stuck in this nightmarish hole in the first place.

He, as a representative of Arinthia, had gone to Crystal Lake in hopes of forming an alliance with her brother, its current ruler, and for all his efforts, she had come back at the worst possible time.

With her avid support of the Erelle, her brother suddenly changed his mind, stabbed him in the back, and simply had thrown him in the dungeon. The next thing he knew, he was being used as a bargaining chip to secure an alliance between Crystal Lake and the Erelle before being tossed into yet another cell.

Lorr and Alisa are never going to let him live it down, damn it.

It was all her fault, all of this humiliation. And if he ever got out of this cell...

The thought sours him, and he hisses angrily, "You're not getting anything out of me, royal brat. If the others couldn't, what chance do you stand?"

She frowns, tugging at her white gloves as she coolly stares up and down the prisoner.

"We'll see about that."

* * *

**a/n: **... Yeah. I know it's been over half a year, but inspiration and motivation has finally struck.

The whole situation will be explained further in the next few chapters, and the Smashers and OCs will make gradual appearances.

Since I'm on break from school, I'll be working on new chapters, and I have more in progress right now. I think I can finish three more chapters this week, but I'll try to space them out.

Reviews are always appreciated, and if you want, PM me because updates are going to be really random.

* * *

**disclaimer: **Don't own anything asides from plot and OCs. Other characters belong to their owners.


	2. the beginning of the end

_"Monsters, all of you__."_

* * *

**[i. the beginning of the end]**

* * *

"Hey Coco, you don't think we trampled them, right?"

While it wasn't that strange anymore to find an unconscious body on the outskirts of Asentar's land, Aira almost immediately knew that there was something peculiar about these two men that she had found passed out on the forest floor.

While they appeared to be dressed like any of the highly respected Erelle warriors that she would see on a daily basis, their hair and clothes were blue.

Their clothes were _blue_.

As far as she knew, natural material that would dye clothes blue was ridiculously scarce. Only Pryvale farmed indigo and other similar crops, and considering the low supply, Arinthia and Erelle imported the plants at painfully expensive prices – only extremely high class people could afford such a good.

Looking back the strangers, Aira could only think that the men were either wealthy noblemen she hadn't heard of or just really stupid smugglers. The ten year old girl frowns upon further contemplation, becoming skeptical of her assumptions.

If the men were that wealthy, she was pretty sure that Lord Thesroth or Lady Silver would have mentioned them at least once, and if they were smugglers, wearing such conspicuous clothing would be asking to be arrested. If these men had managed to sneak some of the goods out of Pryvale, surely they had to be a little clever.

Upon spotting a tiara upon the head of the seemingly more feminine one as well as swords on either of the two, she figured she might as well go with the noblemen explanation.

Now then, as for why they were lying here…

She had drawn a blank.

"Oh well," Aira sighs. "It was lucky I even found them in the first place."

Aira had to admit that she would have not seen the two men lying face down in the middle of the forest had she not made a spectacular fall off her horse Coco. She had been trying to copy a drill that she had seen some of the Erelle foot soldiers performing doing - firing arrows while riding a horse.

Not that she had any experience in the first place.

To be fair, it had looked easy enough. When she was younger, her first attempts to use her father's bow had humored a few Erelle warriors to teach her how to use one practically for hunting and war. On the other hand, riding a horse was practically in her blood as her family had originally been simple farmers and ranchers in an obscure Erelle village.

How hard could it really be?

She found out how hard it really was when she tried to load the arrows as the horse raced forward. It was even more difficult to even get one out of the quiver they were held in for that matter.

And don't even get her started on trying to steer the horse as well.

Her faceplant into the ground only proved that further, and when she brought her head up, lo behold - two unconscious bodies before her!

Having finally brought herself out of her thoughts, it is only now that Aira realizes that she's not even sure if the two are still alive. The thought alone is enough to nauseate her. Dead bodies come with all sorts of _nasty_ surprises, and she's learned firsthand that the surprises are typically anything but funny.

She groans.

Now she really doesn't want to check to see if they're dead.

The ten year old girl reluctantly walks up to the shorter of the unconscious bodies, prodding his head with the tip of her boot before jerking away in fear.

"Hey. Wake up."

There is no response from the body, much to her horror. Bracing herself for the worse, she tentatively turns the man onto his back with her foot, letting out a sigh of relief seeing that he isn't another deformed rotting corpse.

Kneeling down by the body, she grabs the man's hand in her own smaller one, feeling for a possible pulse – being one of the few things she learned on the rare occasion she could even enter Asentar's infirmary, which reeked of death and blood.

She can hear a steady but slow pulse, and the breath she doesn't know she's been holding is released in a relieved sigh.

"At least you're alive," she mutters. Before heading over to the other body, she rests her head on the man's chest, making sure that he's breathing as well.

Satisfied, she moves onto the other, who is alive as well.

Having finished her examinations of the two, Aira, deep in thought, looks over at her horse, the men, her horse again, the two men again, and then finally at her own body, on the small and thin side for a ten year old.

"Now, to get you guys back to the castle…"

She frowns. "… For the Legacy's sake, how the heck am I supposed to do that?"

* * *

"N-no! Please have mercy! PLEAS – ARGH!"

A wide arc of silver slices downwards upon the soldier's neck, and guttural choking cuts the rest of the soldier's unheard plea, his head rolling off the iron slab and onto the dirt ground, revealing a fear stricken face contorted into a silent scream.

"Hah, are all Arinthians as pathetic as you?" The knight before the bleeding body jeers, kicking the head in the nearby river without another thought.

Fearful murmurs rush through the soldiers as they unconsciously press themselves harder against the stone wall, desperately looking for a way to save their lives. Petrified, it is almost as if their legs have forgotten how to run.

"Pity you can't answer me now," she says, glancing at the decapitated body with a bemused expression.

She places a ceramic pot beneath the bleeding stump of the neck, watching as it slowly fills up to the brim before placing a lid on it. The body is kicked aside, left to bleed out onto the dirt.

Smirking at the horrified look on the remaining prisoners' faces, she is well aware at how disgusted the Arinthians are, and it's pathetic how little blood they can bear. The weaker ones actually _vomit_ at the sight of bodies strewn on the ground, unable to handle the scent of blood mixed into the air.

She can already feel a sneer burning its way onto her face. Are they supposed to be fighters and not pushovers?

Maybe she'll have them execute each other next time - let's see if they stomach that.

"What?" she asks tauntingly. "Can't let a perfectly good resource go to waste. In fact, I'll chop up his body later. Might make a nice snack."

For one of the men, that is the last straw, and he pitches forward and crumples onto the ground without a single word.

Absolutely pitiful! How on Aeris had his superiors deemed him ready for war?

She nearly laughs out loud at the sorry scene but unbridled disgust simmers underneath. It makes her angry – staining her vision bloody, bloody red with a need to crush all these puny fools who rush head first into battle for the glory when they can't even fight.

Without another thought, she grabs the unconscious man by his collar and lifts him off the ground. She spots the insignia of an Arinthian lieutenant on his uniform, and her mouth twists into a sneer.

Since when has war been such a vain method of glorifying yourself so falsely? All they had to do was cower behind their machines and let the killing be done for them. Their own hands did not defeat their foes, when their damned hunks of metals did for them.

They are not worthy fighters.

She can hear the fearful voices of the others, muffled as if they are underwater. What she can hear clearly is a single word.

(KILL, KILL, _KILL_!)

Her hands tighten around the unconscious man's neck, and it's almost as if she can see the life being squeezed right from his body.

Like pinching out a flame with two fingers.

The imagery, she muses, tastes bittersweet.

"It's not right!"

"Inhumane!"

"You _monster_!"

The slightest scowl makes it onto her face.

(Once upon a time, she had screamed those words onto a silent battlefield, and she had known it would change nothing and everything.)

The other men can only protest weakly, shouting objections against the killing of a defenseless man who can't fight back.

"Defenseless people, huh?" she silently mouths. "That's coming from you bastards?"

(Dead bodies, with gaping holes clean through their corpses and armor, litter the ground. Like a marionette with its strings cut, his unmoving body lies limply on her knees, coal black eyes gazing upwards at nothi–

Damn it, why she is remembering this _now_?)

She snaps, and a second later, so does the poor man's neck with a well-aimed kick, knocking his body into the stone wall to crumple uselessly to the ground.

Good riddance.

"Hey, leave him there," she says warningly, eyeing the two soldiers kneeling down to examine him.

They don't listen to her and worriedly ask if he's all right (he's _dead_, geniuses) as they attempt to bring him back to his feet. Before anyone knows it, either takes an arrow straight to the heart, joining their fallen comrade on the ground with gargled choking.

All the others immediately are repelled the bodies, and her smile only grows.

Cowards, they all are - with absolutely no dignity on top of that. Nevertheless, she loves the way they quiver and shake – it means that they'll scream when she kills them each one by one, and the sound is always lovely to her ears.

Glancing down at the dead bodies, Edessa lets out a low whistle of appreciation before turning towards the forest, hands cupped around her mouth.

"Impressive, Grace! Right through the heart!"

Without waiting for a reply, she turns back to the soldiers.

"I wouldn't try any tricks if I were you. If you run off, a friend I know will shoot you dead. On the off chance that she misses…"

A loud animalistic roar responds, and some trees in the forest not that far off in the distance visibly rattle and shake.

"Well, the Temerian could rip you to shreds instead," Edessa laughs. "I imagine it would hurt a lot."

The soldiers' eyes only widen in horror, and a few more join the three bodies already on the ground.

Several of the others noticeably deflate, and she can see any hope they have left vanish.

It disappoints for her – the ones who never give up are the ones she enjoys killing. It has always been utterly satiating to grind that hope into worthless dust.

Nevertheless, she can still get some satisfaction out this.

A feral smile reaches her blood red lips as she walks up to the line of remaining soldiers, a hungry gleam in her eyes.

"All right then, tell me - who's next?"

Suddenly she grabs one by the collar of his tattered uniform, yanking him into her. A fine specimen, she calmly notes, with handsome features and a toned body, and a little part of her feels a twinge of pity.

She's not supposed to take any trophies from this batch, and it seems like such a waste of such a nice face.

"Hm, not bad."

"Erelle witch," he hisses at her.

He spits into her face, but she does not flinch, only smiles even wider up at the taller person.

"A spirited one as well! Your death will be particularly painful, along with the rest."

The gold flakes in her eyes seem to gleam as she leans forward over to the side of his head, where her mouth lingers by his ear.

"I hope it hurts a lot."

The rest all happens in a bloodied blur. With a gruesome crunch, bones are crushed, and the horrified screaming (not her victim's, she is pleased to note) that follows drowns out the sound of a head being ripped from its body.

Her silver armor drenched in red, she laughs bitterly, inhaling the sweet, bloody haze as if it were fresh air. And with a crazed look in her eyes, she smiles cruelly upon the now quailing men.

"Next."

* * *

Never before had a horse ride been so miserable in her life.

It takes all of Aira's willpower not to turn around despite of the dreadful sight she knows she'll see if she does, and it reminds her of when she has to cover her eyes to watch the more public executions but leaves a gap between her fingers to peek.

And like back then, she turns around, only to regret that decision much too late, grimace painfully, and swiftly face front again.

Now her brilliant idea didn't look so good.

As her horse Coco races forward, the bodies of the still unconscious men are pulled along with it, ropes tied around either of the men's feet attached to her saddle. The men are dragged rather rudely over the tree roots, through bushes, and across dirt clearings, and the scene is utterly painful to even imagine, leaving Aira feeling extremely guilty.

Well, as long as they don't wake before she reaches Asentar, it should be fine.

Hopefully.

To be sure, she leans forward and whispers into the horse's ear.

"Hey Coco, you don't need to go so fast. If they get any other injuries…"

She only cringes as the horse breaks into a brisk gallop, praying silently that the misery would be over soon.

Luckily, that comes soon than she thinks, and as Coco slows back to a walking pace, Aria realizes two things – they are almost to Asentar's castle grounds (_finally_) and that someone is approaching them. Hopefully, it's one of Asentar's reputed warriors.

(But what if it's not? What if - )

Paranoia creeps up into her now tingling fingers, and her eyes and ears remember nothing but _that_ day, when _they_ killed the sky with their ungodly red flower, the fire plunging back to the earth to burn everything to ashes. And amidst the scent of burning bodies and endless screaming, _they_ advanced silently upon the village, looming over like vast shadows.

(No, no, no… Think happy thoughts.)

With a little fumbling, she manages to notch an arrow in her bow and aim at the intruder, drawing it back carefully. Only when she releases the arrow does she recognize the figure, and by then, it is much too late.

Stunned speechless, she can only watch as the arrow flies towards the hooded figure, who proceeds to swat it aside as if it is a mere fly. Unfazed by what had just happened, the person calmly removes the fur lined hood to reveal the face of a teenage female with shocking pale blue eyes and skin.

To Aira's shock, the girl merely smiles with an indiscernible emotion, acting as though Aira had not just fired an arrow at her.

She casually greets the younger girl, tapping her on the head with a glassy black dagger.

"Ah, it's you, kid - nice shot. What are you doing here?"

Aira blinks, unable to speak.

This girl had been one of the warriors who taught her how to use her bow and arrow, and she is not merely a warrior.

She may only be in her teenage years, but this girl had quickly risen up the Erelle ranks as one of the newest members of the prestigious Asentar Warriors, only the best of the Erelle fighters. Even now there are rumors that this prodigy may even eclipse Lady Silver in the years to come.

_The _Lady Silver, who's easily the most ruthless person in Erelle as of now.

The girl (it occurs to Aira that they don't know each other's names) looks up at her on the horse, down the saddle where the ropes are tied, and back to the feet that are tied on the end. An eyebrow rises ever so slightly at the two men, passed out on the ground.

"Who are these men?"

"I'm hoping Lord Thesroth or Lady Silver might know."

The older girl lets out a sigh. "You tied them by their feet, attached the rope to your saddle and rode all the way here. You sure you haven't damaged them?"

"…Heh."

Without saying anything, the older girl walks over to the unconscious men and kicks the one with a black headband hard in the ribs.

No response.

"Hm."

She kicks him harder this time, and Aira winces.

"…They weren't dead when you found them, right?"

"Uh, no?"

The girl sighs before examining either of the two quickly, kneeling down to check for breathing and a pulse. With a slight nod of her head indicating the presence of either, she takes a quick look at the rest of their bodies, scanning for any possible damage.

"Well, they're not, luckily," she comments briskly. "And neither of them appears to have any other injuries.

"Er, what do I do no-"

The teenager puts her free hand up. "Wait for a second, kid."

The older girl places two fingers in her mouth and whistles sharply, the sound startling Aira.

An earsplitting roar shakes the forest in response, and loud crashes echo in a cacophonic rhythm, faster and faster –

Toward them.

It takes all of Aira's willpower not to scream because whatever it is, it's_ coming, _and all she can think of are the monsters and atrocities which occasionally plague her at night. These are not silly nightmares, but the real thing – in these dreams, all she can see is blood and fire and shadows as they engulf the land, and death is only the merciful force that will be their savior.

(What? She never would think such a -)

"W-what's t-that?" She sputters, pointing at the enormous beast which stands before them.

It is much like a wolf – except that this creature is easily larger than her own horse, with jet black fur with streaks of red, impressive leg muscle, and, much to Aira's horror, blank white eyes that seemly glow with …something.

"Crimson, a Temerian Demon – a creature that has supposedly hails from hell itself," the teenage casually replies with an almost prideful smile. "Raised it myself."

Aira only grips the reins of her horse tighter. The beast could easily jump and snatch her right off the saddle, and that thought does little to comfort her at all.

She thinks she's going to be _very_ sick.

"Hey kid, let me take these two off of your hands."

The older girl grabs the two blue men roughly by their hair, drags them over to the Temerian, and attaches them directly to the beast, hooking their belts onto the metal collar using steel rings.

Aira's eye twitches slightly.

Is that even safe?

The warrior waves a hand, having not noticed anything.

"Hey, kid, you can get back on your horse now. We're going to Lord Thesroth."

Aira blinks, and suddenly, the teenager and the beast are gone.

"Hey! Wait!"

* * *

The first thing that Aira does upon meeting up with Lord Thesroth and the other … _adults _(would Brooke and the Temerian tamer count?) is throw up the remnants of the day's breakfast onto Lord Thesroth's boots.

It's probably not the best way to leave an impression on your homeland's ruler, and Aira's face swiftly changes from a sickly green to a fierce red once she stops.

But for the Legacy's sake – _no one_ should walk around so nonchalantly the way Lady Silver does.

Seriously, did the woman decide to take a _shower_ in blood?

.

.

.

There goes the rest of her stomach's contents.

"Hey kid! You all right?" the Temerian tamer says, crouching by the girl's body, shocked.

"Grace, if she threw up that much, do you think she's all right?" Lord Thesroth says.

He scowls for a moment and pulls a small vial out of one of his vest pockets before bending down level to Aira.

"Here, take this – it'll help with upset stomachs, particularly in situations like these."

She knows she's already left a bad impression, but Aira can't help but twist her face doubtfully at the sight of it.

Doesn't Lord Thesroth specialize in poisons, not medicines?

"You sure?"

"I know, it's one of my family's basic recipes," he says as reassuringly he can.

Aira swiftly swipes the vial of his hand and pours the contents into her mouth and swallowing. She winces at the searing bitter taste, but she can feel her stomach settling.

Huh. It did work.

Appearing relieved, Lord Thesroth proceeds to address the others.

"Looking into other matters, Miss Grace, why are you here with – ah, I apologize young lady, but what is your name?"

"Aira."

"Lord Thesroth, the kid er, found some interesting men out in the forests back there," Grace suddenly says, pointing her dagger at the unconscious men hanging from the Temerian's collar.

"…Is that safe?" Brooke mutters, raising an eyebrow, and Aira inwardly has a moment of triumph.

And _her_ method was dangerous.

Lord Thesroth frowns as he looks over the two, seemly deep in thought.

"That's strange…"

He fingers the cloth of one of the men's shirts, looking at it almost dubiously.

Turning to face Lady Silver, he asks, "Edessa, recognize them?"

With an indifferent expression, she shrugs. "Not at all."

"Intriguing. Edessa, take these two men inside. I'll deal with them after I finish with this conversation."

And once again, Aira can only cringe as Lady Silver proceeds to drag the two still unconscious bodies across the unpaved path to the castle, from the ropes tied to their feet on top of that.

Poor bastards.

* * *

"You're joking, right?"Lorr says angrily. "This isn't funny."

He walks faster to keep up with the taller person's pace and crossly waves a hand in front of the woman, growing even more annoyed as she continues to sift through papers in a file folder and ignore him.

After a few seconds, he snaps and motions to swipe the documents out of her hands, only to be stopped by a baleful glare from the adult.

"No, I'm not joking," she says curtly, pushing up her tinted glasses. "Now then, please carry out the operation and report back to me as soon as possible."

With that she proceeds to walk fast, leaving an indignant Lorr behind.

"You want me to go clean up _your_ mess? Why do I have to go and rid of the dead bodies?" He growls, grabbing the woman by one of her arms. "Do I look like your room service?"

She pauses, flicks his hand off her arm, and scowls down at him.

"You wanted to get out of here and get some fresh air, right?"

He nods almost exasperatedly.

Well _of course - _ anything to get out of this prison-like building.

"Well then, here's your chance."

"Why can't you have Alisa use them? She's the necromancer while I'm -"

"Perfectly expendable."

He blinks.

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me."

He begins to splutter protests but goes silent at the sight of her elegantly raised middle finger.

"Don't question my orders, young man, or I'll have to find somewhere to dump your dead body as well."

Lorr bites his lips to prevent himself from saying anything else and turns to leave in the other direction.

"Harsh," an approaching man says, watching as the teenager angrily walks off, muttering indiscernible curses that caused the air around him to blur and crackle.

She rolls her eyes.

"He's a teenager," she remarks coolly. "And I don't need your opinion on my methods."

Almost affronted, he says, "You're as sharp tongued as they all say."

"Really?" she says, humor laced in her voice. "Let's hope you hold up to how others speak of you, Cassandor. I don't plan on leaving this war to be inherited by my successor."

He almost smiles at that.

"You won't be disappointed."

* * *

**a/n: **Not sure what to say right now, but you'll get some action in next chapter. (Is there anyone still reading this? /shot.)

With exams coming up, I'll try to sneak in another update before May ends.

Please review, feedback and criticism is appreciated.

Until next time!


End file.
